Misinterprited Words
by Bard's Soul
Summary: Revised Author's Notes! The diciples where just mortal men, after all. They could have missunderstood Jesus' words. Another look at the writers of the Gospels.


Disclaimer: Not sure if the Bible is in the public domain or not, but I didn't write it, nor did I write the other Gospels involved.

9/21/05—This work was written about nine months ago, and I'm no longer as obsessed with the concept of Jesus being married as I was then. Even then, it wasn't so much of a firm belief as a strong possibility that I wanted to explore. Please, try to keep an open mind as you read, that's all I really ask.

MW…MW…MW…MW…

The man sat at the plain and simple table, staring out at the setting sun beyond the city walls. The inn, though cheep, offered a decent view of the west, though he couldn't see the horizon past the tall outer walls, the sun was still high enough to be seen from where he sat, moody and irate.

The rough-hewn wooden door creaked behind him, and the man turned towards the sound. A woman stood there, wearing the same simple white robes as he, but where a red sash bore across the man's chest, a blue one accented the woman's attractive curves.

The man sat there, staring at her, a small smile appearing on his lips as the folds on his brow softened from there form tense pose.

"What are you thinking about?" the woman asked, moving to sit on the sleeping pallet on the floor.

"How beautiful you are, my love," the man replied, moving to sit by her side.

"That won't work so easily, you know," she laughed gently, taking up his hands in hers and gently squeezing them, "I know you're hiding something. What is it that has so darkened your eyes?"

The man sighed heavily, "I can never deceive you, can I?"

"No more than you can deceive yourself," she answered, smiling slightly before turning serious once more. "Now tell me, what has bothered you so?"

The man looked down for a moment, then looked up once more, saying, "You know it as well as I, my love."

The women leaned back, sitting straighter on the bed. "It's them, isn't it," she asked in an exasperated and tired voice. "They still don't understand?"

"No," the man replied, rising form the palette to walk over to the window once more. "Despite all my efforts, despite all my stories, all the lessons I have taught and words I have said, they still can not see the true meanings behind it. On our way here to meet you, we passed a Samaritan village that refused us entrance. And can you imagine what those fools asked me? They wondered if they should take vengeance and strike the villages dead!"

The man paused, feeling the woman's loving arms wrap around him. Taking hold of her wrists about his waist, he continued, "I have tried so hard, but still I fear the end… Have I failed, my love? Did I choose wrong when I choose them? They lack faith, they lack compassion, they lack heart. Did I fail in my goals, in my dreams?"

As he finished, he turned around to face her, looking deep into her eyes.

"Failed, my love?" she asked. "No. You are a mortal man, just like them. Mistakes are to be made and learned from, you know that just as well as I. You followed your heart, and that is what matters."

"But they will spread their foolish beliefs," he countered, "They will take what they believe to be true and use it to dominate, to control, to enslave." Turning to the window once more, he hissed, "_That_ is what I can not stand. In their blind faith they will betray me—_us_—each and everyone. Fools!" Then softer, "Fools, but I love them all."

Moving to stand beside him at the window's ledge, the women took his hands in her own once more.

"And even if it takes a thousand years," she said to him, "They will see the truth behind the words. That is what makes you so great, you're capacity to love. It is what gave me hope, and it will give them hope in time."

He smiled at that—a real, warming smile—and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Thank you," he said.

The woman returned the hug, holding tightly to him in a show of their mutual affection. After a moment, however, she gently pushed him away, a gentle smile on her lips.

"Besides," she said, "All is not lost. Thomas and Joseph see the truth, they can carry out the word, even if the others still do not understand." She paused for a moment, and her smile became slightly mysterious. "And I won't let the truth be lost either; nor will our child, I can promise you that."

"They will never let you teach, you know that," the man said gently.

At this the woman laughed, gently pushing him back. "If there is one thing you still must learn," she said, "It is to never cross the path of a mother. I can deal with them."

"I keep forgetting who I'm dealing with," the man smiled, regaining his balance.

A knock on the door interrupted what ever the woman was about to say, and the man called out, "Come!"

"Pardon me, Rabbi," the man who entered—also robed in white, but with a tan sash instead of red—said, "But dinner is ready. We await only you're blessing."

Though it was obvious the man was addressing her husband, the woman replied, "We will be down shortly, Peter, tell the others to wait."

"I was not speaking to you, _woman_," Peter replied, "I listen only to the Son of—"

The other man interrupted Peter before he could finish, "Peter! You forget yourself! Mary is my wife and the mother of my child. You shall treat her with the same respect as you do me, for she is my mate in all things, and you are our children and pupils. Never forget that."

Peter bowed to the man, ashamed, though he still took a moment to glare at Mary.

"My apologies, Lord, I meant no harm."

"Go," the Lord said, "Tell the others we will be down shortly."

"Yes, my Lord."

When Peter closed the door, the Man sighed heavily. "See what I mean?" he asked, "They insist on calling me Lord, as if _I _were the Father, and God some commanding figure that could exalt them above their fellows."

"Don't worry my love," Mary said, "So long as I have strength in my soul, the name Jesus shall be one of love and not of hate."

Jesus smiled his thanks, and took his wife into his arms for one last kiss. Breaking away, both turned toward the door, and together, Jesus, priest of God, and Mary, Priestess of Goddess, left their chambers for what they knew would be their last supper together.

MW…MW…MW…MW…

Yes, it's fanfiction, so it's not 'canon,' and yes, this doesn't go along with mainstream beliefs—but it does seem to generate some controversy, which can be a nice staging ground for new ideas.

So please, if you don't agree with what I'm doing, let's generate some dialog, don't just damn me and leave me no contact information. Besides, I don't think damning someone goes along with 'Love thy neighbor as thyself'. Lets instead try to love and learn, and not just damn each other to hell for having different beliefs.

(Trust me, it works. I have had some really interesting conversations at the church camp I work at—and that's with people who believe in the Bible being THE word, yet we were still able to have a nice discussion and new ideas were shared between us.)

Thank you.


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